31. Hadley #2
“No. Don’t apologize. And while I totally understand why you’re mad, try to think of the best intentions. Maybe Lenny’s car broke down. Maybe he had to take him home. Maybe he’s sick and feels ashamed and vulnerable and doesn’t want you to see him like that.”
“He saw me do a speech in front of my entire class,” I tell her. “Being vulnerable is what relationships are about.”
“Some guys aren’t like that.” She means Christian’s not like that. “I know you’re probably thinking about Ezra, but this is Nolan, not Ezra.”
“If I hadn’t caught them in the act, I don’t know that I would have believed anyone if they told me,” I admit.
“Hadley, you need to get some sleep. You’re exhausted and you’re feeling hurt, and if you make a decision right now it’s going to be out of anger.”
I don’t want reason. I don’t want rationale. I want someone to stand next to me and justify my feelings.
“Sorry again for waking you up.”
“Call me in the morning, okay? My morning—not yours.”
“I have to go pick up Katie and Carsen from the airport in a couple of hours, so I think I’m just going to shower and stay up. Otherwise, I’ll probably sleep through my alarm.”
“Okay. Well, text me when you can. Love you.”
I head to the kitchen and put away all the cookies and brownies I’d baked, then head upstairs to shower. I don’t know how to feel. I have no reference point for what’s going on and Lanie’s reaction almost makes this more trying and complicated.
I get dressed, vacuum the house, put in a load of laundry, clean the kitchen, and head to the airport to pick up Katie and Carsen, knowing Katie’s going to ask where Nolan is and I doubt her reaction will be as calm and relaxed as Lanie’s.
“Hey!” Katie says, sliding into the passenger seat of my car as Carsen puts their bags in the trunk.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” I reach across to hug her over the console.
“It was really fun. I feel like we spent most of the weekend driving, but I’m still really happy we went. How was your Thanksgiving? Was Hudson’s dad’s house a mansion?”
“It was pretty big,” I say. “It was nice. They did a blended Thanksgiving which had me a little worried, but his parents were both really nice, and the food was delicious.”
“How’s Nolan doing? Was it the previous game that caused him to be benched?”
I could tell her he’s upset and leave it at that. I could tell her I have no idea and admit I haven’t seen him since Friday night when we had our tense conversation that I spent too much time stewing over last night. Or I could just change the subject.
“Damn, it’s cold,” Carsen says, climbing into the backseat and rubbing his palms together. “I think it’s colder here than it was in Indiana.” He blows into his palms.
“It was only twenty-five degrees when I woke up,” I tell him.
“Damn,” Katie says. “Sometimes I wish it would snow here.” She peers at the clear blue skies that make the chilly weather even more deceiving.
“Did you see that April spent Thanksgiving in Spain?”
“I would go to Spain right now,” Carsen says. “I would be perfectly happy never seeing snow again in my life.”
The two banter about weather and seasons, Katie firmly in favor of all seasons, and Carsen set on a constant mild terrain.
“Are you okay?” Katie asks. “You’re wincing.”
“I’m getting a headache,” I admit. “I was cleaning this morning and skipped breakfast.”
“It’s not a migraine, is it?”
“I hope not,” I say.
Katie smiles thoughtfully. “I’ll pick up Hannah when her flight gets in. You should probably eat and take some medicine just in case. Is Nolan still asleep?”
“Probably.” It’s the truth.
When we get home, my headache is worse, bringing the familiar side effects of nauseousness and light sensitivity that warn me it’s in fact a migraine, about to ruin what’s left of my Sunday.
“What can I do to help?” Katie asks.
I shake my head. “I just need to take some medicine and lie down.”
We head inside where the scents of chocolate still hang in the air from my baking. “There are cookies and brownies if you’re hungry, and I have a tray of ham and cheese sandwiches left over in the fridge.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” Katie asks, frowning.
“I’ll be okay in a few hours.”
Her frown deepens with sympathy.
I snag one of Nolan’s coffees from the fridge and head upstairs, swallowing a tablet that I chase with the bottle of coffee. I close the shades in my room to make it as dark as possible and climb into bed, still dressed, feeling the roll of nausea growing stronger as the pain increases.
Minutes later, I’m in the bathroom, losing the coffee and medicine as my head screams with pain and my stomach churns.
A lack of sleep and inconsistent eating are two of the many triggers for my migraines.
I wipe the tears that slip from my eyes, the pain so intense it’s difficult to think of anything else as I brush my teeth.
“Can you take something again?” Katie asks as I open the bathroom door.
“My stomach’s too upset,” I tell her.
“Where’s Nolan?” she asks, following me to my room.
I collapse on the bed. “I don’t know.”